


A Walk In the Park (Gotham)

by Velobill



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Injury Recovery, Substance Use Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:54:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22508857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Velobill/pseuds/Velobill
Summary: While stopping a crime the Batman is severely injured.  Prescribed an opiate medication for acute pain while he is healing, he begins to illicitly use prescription and illegal pain medications.
Kudos: 4





	A Walk In the Park (Gotham)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [To everyone who is in recovery or knows someone struggling with a substance use disorder](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=To+everyone+who+is+in+recovery+or+knows+someone+struggling+with+a+substance+use+disorder).



> Editing comments are welcome. I work with people who have substance use disorders. One of the events I participate in because of my work and my own substance use recovery is an annual walk for recovery. The walk is held each fall in many cities, including Pope Park in Hartford where it originated thanks to Connecticut Community for Addiction Recovery (CCAR). This and my meeting Neal Adams at a Con where reproduced covers of of his art was sold including: "Snowbirds Don't Fly" the Green Arrow/Green Lantern story where Green Arrow finds his sidekick using Heroin as well as a poster showing Robin in the same situation. The stark images prompted me to ask myself what if the Batman had to deal with a substance use disorder? Additional notes: You may find some familiar names including the Reverend Marshall Taylor who is based on my life long sports hero and a minister friend of mine. You will also meet a young girl who is based on a young girl I was introduced to.

A Walk in the Park (Gotham)  
It was a beautiful early fall Saturday morning. The sun shone down from a sapphire sky over bright yellow and crimson foliage of Gotham’s Central Park. A crowd gathered under bright banners as a quartet played festive music a sea foam blue concrete band shell. Nearby, two police officers stood sentinel, their arms crossed. One of them Officer O’Hara noticed a sleek black limousine suddenly slip under the brownstone Gothic entrance arch and drive towards them. Immaculately polished the long vehicle rolled silently into the crowded parking lot. After it stopped next to a humble pick-up truck, a rather short stout, but immaculately dressed driver exited and pulled open a rear passenger door.  
O’Hara wondered who would be the passenger then after moment the car’s sole passenger stepped out and walked towards her and the milling congregation at the band shell. The police officer immediately recognized the tall striking figure as Bruce Wayne, Gotham’s wealthiest citizen and one of the richest men in the country.  
“Now what would bring Wayne to an event like this” she murmured to her partner as the billionaire approached them dressed in fancy evening wear, white shirt black tie and black suit.  
“Good morning, Mr. Wayne” O’Hara said. Wayne nodded a greeting as he strode past the two officers towards the crowd and the brightly colored “Gotham Recovers!!” banner.  
“Probably getting a bit of fresh air after an all-night party” O’Hara remarked once Wayne was out of earshot. Her partner replied with a thin smile as he continued to silently observe the growing throng from behind mirrored sunglasses. 

Bruce Wayne walked through the knots of people and approached a table where two women sat under a handwritten placard that read “Registration” He seemed out of place among the crowd. But he was largely ignored other than a few sharp glances. One of the women was young with long straight brunette hair and a red checked flannel shirt. She was busy helping a scraggly bearded man fill out a form. The other woman, older with silver hair she primly tucked under a cap embroidered with the charging knight logo of Gotham’s professional ball team looked up in surprise. Then before she could say anything, a friendly greeting took Wayne’s attention. He turned to see the event’s organizer, the Reverend Marshall Taylor amble over with a toothy smile and outstretched hand.  
Taylor, who stood almost a head shorter than Wayne and who was almost twice as wide and took Wayne’s hand in a solid two-fisted grip.  
“Mr. Wayne, I never expected to see our biggest benefactors here in person. Given how everyone says you are usually sleeping at this time of day, I am shocked” he said with a laugh.  
“Reverend, please call me Bruce. They’re right I’m usually sleeping. But, I thought since I hadn’t gone to bed, I’d stop by and see your big walk for myself. What a great looking day and it looks you are nice turnout, there must be over a hundred people here”  
Wayne scanned the crowd. Young and old, children and adult the crowd was diverse and from the clothes many wore, he assumed most worked way too hard for way too little. 

He remembered when he first met the Reverend Marshall Taylor or ‘Rev’ as he was often called. It was during a pitch the later gave to the Wayne Foundation for funding his “Gotham Recovers” walk. When one of the board members disdainfully asked why the only charge to participants was a “five spot”, the Reverend's response was quick and sharp.  
“It’s really a free will offering. But people like to give something back and five bucks is not too much and not too little. So, let the college students and do-gooders, raise money by the mile. This walk is so Gotham knows that ‘Recovery’ happens and people are not alone.” Bruce Wayne immediately realized he liked the stout preacher despite Taylor being twice his age and black while Wayne was Bruce Wayne.

Six months later, Gotham Park was filled with people, many wearing purple sashes with numbers on them.  
“Thank you Bruce, we certainly have a great day to share life’s blessings” Rev replied, bringing Wayne back to the present.  
“You are welcome to join us, as my daddy would say, you don’t have to be an addict or alcoholic to walk” Wayne smiled and said,  
“Rev. I don’t want to intrude. I just stopped to donate a bit more for today’s walk. Not from the Foundation but from me. What you are doing here is important and I appreciate it very much” Wayne reached into his jacket pocket and handed an envelope to the Reverend.  
They were suddenly interrupted by a primly dressed middle aged woman and a young girl of about 8 years of age who wore an oversized ‘Gotham Recovers’ t-shirt.  
“Excuse me Reverend Taylor and excuse me Mr. Wayne, I don’t mean to interrupt. It’s just my granddaughter saw Mr. Wayne and wanted to say hello. She’s never met a celebrity and Mr. Wayne is Gotham’s biggest”  
“Besides the Batman” the little girl added. Wayne and the Reverend smiled at the same time at the woman and her charge. Wayne’s smile was ironic given that little girl was meeting both celebrities at the same time. He guessed that from the way they were dressed they were from one of Gotham’s affluent suburbs.  
“Martha, let me introduce you and Abbie to Bruce Wayne. Bruce, this is Martha Greene and Abigail Dias. Martha just joined the board of ‘Gotham Recovers.’” She’s an attorney and is helping us with our non-profit status. After all, something like this”, Taylor stretched his arms out to encompass the growing crowd “shouldn’t be just a one shot deal.”  
“It is my pleasure to meet you both, Martha and Abbie” remarked the billionaire playboy who stooped down to shake the young girls outstretched hand.  
“Martha would it be ok with you and Abbie if I tell Mr. Wayne a bit of Abbie’s story?”  
Abbie’s grandmother responded with her permission accompanied by the young girl’s energetic nod.  
“Bruce, Martha has been caring for Abbie ever since her father died of a heroin overdose in June. Her mother passed away from an overdose last winter…”  
Wayne felt cold as he looked into the young girl’s dark brown eyes and realized inadequate his words could ever be. He hoped that perhaps somehow he could on to her some of the strength his training and indomitable spirit gave him. Not suspecting the billionaire playboy also wore the mask and cowl of the Batman, Abbie gave him a heartfelt smile and said,  
“Mr. Wayne, please don’t look so sad. My grandma told me your mom and dad died when you were little too an’ I know my mom and dad are with them in a place where no one feels pain any more”.  
Wayne knew pain and what happens when people try to make it go away. 

Years before that sunny autumn day, the Batman had been trailing a gang of burglars plaguing Gotham business. Known from a few security camera photos, as the “Ski Mask Bandits” their MO was to disable cameras, security systems and street lights in several neighborhoods at once and then using plasma torches cut through safes to make off with jewels, money, furs and other valuables. The Batman and the police knew they were a four man crew working for the mob. It had taken months for the Batman to track them down and one greasy January night he found himself standing on a rooftop overlooking a small jewelry store not far from Gotham’s ‘Crime Alley” Below him, parked in a narrow alley, its front facing the street idled a newspaper delivery van. The Caped Crusader drew a pair of thin night viewing googles from his utility belt and slipped them over his eyes. He immediately targeted the vehicle’s driver wearing a ski mask and standing in the shadows with a cell phone in one hand and a military night scope held up to his eyes in the other. Unfortunately for the “lookout’ the Batman slipped up alongside and struck the side of his face with a ferocious right hook. The criminal dropped like a sack of bowling balls, his phone crackling against the cobblestone. Before he could recover, he was rolled onto his stomach, his wrists lashed together behind his back with a zip-tie ankles wrapped with gaffer’s tape and his mouth tapped shut.  
One down and three to go thought the Batman as he peered into the van before he popped open the driver door and removed the key. Then with the perimeter secure, he opened the store’s unlocked back door and stepped in to the Stygian darkness. The googles made it easy for him to maneuver. Seeing the small backroom crowded with boxes and shelving was safe he silently through an equally small workshop until he came to a corridor with three matching doors. He didn’t need his googles to see his destination was the door where a faint red glow spilled from a narrow crack. 

The Batman pulled a wire thin Wayne Enterprise orthoscope from his utility belt and plugged it into a port on his googles. He slipped its tiny through the crack and made out the other three burglars. The one closest to the door was another lookout who watched the culprit at the safe on the far end of the room use his plasma torch. The third burglar stood near the safe cracker and held up a shade to prevent light spillage from the torch’s business end.  
The Batman returned the goggles and scope to his belt. Then like the business end of a mousetrap he sprung forward through the door slamming it open. He targeted the closest felon and caught him with a paralyzing blow to the jaw. The Batman knew his forward momentum would quickly carry him to the other two where he could pivot and drop them. That was the plan. But he was seen by the crook with the shade who screamed  
“It’s the Batman”  
It was then the Batman’s cowl mounted sonic amplifiers picked up the ominous sound of rustling cloth behind his head. There was a fifth criminal in the room. The miscreant moved in for a vicious attack with a wooden baseball bat. The Batman twisted. The weapon missed the nape of his neck and slammed instead into his back close to his left shoulder blade. The Batman staggered forward; his insides quivering. It turned out the criminal with the shade also had a baseball bat handy and he smashed it into the Batman’s ribs under his right arm.  
“Look boys we hit a home run on the Bat” the second assailant called out triumphantly.  
Thankfully for the Cape Crusader, the bat suit; like the gadgets in his utility belt were not a costume. Made from ballistic nylon reinforced leather with patches of bullet resistant composites the suit, like the hardened protective cowl was made to protect the Batman’s life.  
“Let’s see how the Bat stands up to some heat” jeered the safe cracker.  
From his training and experience fighting the Batman learned simultaneous assailants were vulnerable in melee unless they practiced fighting together. These crooks despite their matching ski masks and baseball bats did not practice. Even as the assailant behind the Batman swung his bat again, the Batman, still facing the torch bearer anticipated the attack. He used the side of his right arm to stop the bat. Then despite the terrible blow, the Batman allowed the weapon to slide down where he caught it and pulled it from the crook’s grasp directing towards the face of burglar with the torch. The crook dropped to the floor and the torch snaked about the floor like a snake. The Batman spun around grabbed the criminal who had been behind him and flung him down. As he did, the Batman kneed the criminal’s back so the ski mask slammed face first into the concrete. Another pivot and the Batman dropped to his knees. A quick savage kick and the other crook was down and out.  
The felon who had been the first to feel the Batman’s fury laid still on his stomach, his hands clasped over his head repeating he wasn’t going to give the “Bat any more trouble”  
Once the four criminals were immobilized with zip ties, the Batman pulled off the ski mask of the only crook who was able to talk. A young scared kid faced the night's nemesis with terror stricken open eyes.  
“Who are you working for?”  
“I duh-dohnt know” came the stuttered spittled reply. “Joh-joh-Johhnny gets the j-j-obs, tere’s some guy we-we m-meet behind St-St-“  
“Stony’s Bar” finished the Batman, who had already marked the seedy night club as a mob hang out.  
“Yesss, please duh-duh-don’t hurt me, please, I’m ah, telling dah truth”  
“I know how to find you if you aren’t.” growled the Caped Crusader.  
After he dialed the police the Batman left through the back door and returned to the Batmobile. Adrenalin had worn off and the pain he felt was terrible. He knew only one place to get medical help. 

“Bruce want a cup of coffee?” Reverend Taylor asked bringing Wayne back from his thoughts. The little girl was still smiling at him with an innocence he envied. She let go of his hand and joined her grandmother and they headed into the crowd.  
“It a gorgeous day. Crisp as any late October day can be” remarked Taylor who noticed Wayne staring at the banner and volunteers with cardboard boxes passed out purple sashes.  
Bruce Wayne intended to say a quick goodbye and join Alfred. But, he found himself agreeing to the offer and followed Taylor to another table with several tureens of coffee and cases of water where people helped themselves. Within moments the he held a warm paper cup of black coffee in his hands.  
“Reverend this coffee is great”  
“Thanks, Bruce, it’s another donation. We borrowed the tureens from Gotham’s “Faith Council”. Volunteers from the Council and some local recovery groups helped us set everything up this morning.”  
“Recovery groups, you mean Alcoholics Anonymous?”  
“Well AA is one, there’s, NA or Narcotics Anonymous, ALANON and ALATEEN too and some of the volunteers are from a program called “Gotham House” a peer run place for people living with mental illness.  
“What about the doctors and clinicians? Where are they?”  
“They’re here. There are some tables in that big tent over there” Taylor pointed to a large brightly colored tent that stood among several smaller ones.  
“There are many treaters walking today too. After all, you don’t have to be an ‘addict’ to be in recovery”  
Wayne sipped his coffee for a thoughtful moment as he watched the activity  
“Rev, what is the story of the purple ribbons? I guess I was dozing during some of your presentation, not that it wasn’t informative, but I am a night owl, so to speak”  
“Bruce, purple is the color of recovery. Everyone who wants to share their recovery is welcome to a purple ribbon they can wear like a sash. Some even add numbers to their sash for the number of years they’ve been in recovery. We don't ask anyone why they want one. Everyone here has a story of addiction and recovery. Some, like Martha and Abbie are family members who lost a loved one. Some are just thankful for the recovery of a loved one. Which reminds me, I better put mine on too.”  
With that the Reverend Taylor pulled a ribbon from his jacket pocket and swung it over one shoulder. Pinned on the sash was the number ‘28’.  
“And before you ask Bruce, I’ve been a friend of Bill W’s for 28 years.”  
Taylor excused himself when he noticed a couple large figures standing at the fringe of the crowd. Bruce Wayne immediately recognized the two as highly placed members of the mob and he watched with suspicion as the Reverend Taylor shook each of their hands. Concerned about this development, Wayne approached the trio.  
“Bruce, let me introduce you to Jimmy and… and… Oh I’m sorry I didn’t get your name.”  
“No problems Reverend, this is my, associate Tommy. I’m glad you have a great crowd today and I’m sorry my Robbie isn’t here.”  
“Jimmy, Robbie will always be in my prayers and you know I will listen if you want to talk to anyone.”  
“Thanks again Reverend, com’on Tommy, let’s go.”

The two ambled off to a waiting shiny black four door sedan that had been under the scrutiny of Officer O’Hara and his partner as soon as it pulled into the park.  
“Rev, wasn’t that Jimmy Thick-Arms? I read in the paper he’s a big time mobster.”  
“You are right, he is a mobster. Jimmy’s son was going to be here to help with the walk. Nice boy, despite what you may read about his father. Robbie had been going to Gotham University when he started taking pain pills, opiates. I don’t know how his addiction started. But, he and his family fought back and he went through rehab several times. Things looked good Robbie started medication assisted treatment and was in therapy. His therapist recommended he do volunteer work and he did a lot preparing for today’s walk. But, a couple weeks ago he was found dead in his parent’s Gotham Island home from an overdose. You may have read about it when he died, I was out of town when it happened. But, as soon as I got back I went to Jimmy and his wife, to share their grief”  
Wayne recalled the article and knew the mourners at the funeral were dutifully documented by Gotham’s finest. But, since the death of a college student wasn’t related mob activities he didn’t give the funeral much attention.  
“I guess it must be his father’s influence” remarked Wayne.  
“Bruce Wayne that is the most ignorant thing I’ve ever heard from you. You, an educated person, finest schools in the country and all that, and you don’t know the first thing about what is happening here. Addiction, substance use disorders, whatever you want to call it is a scourge. It doesn’t care if you come from a family of crooks or saints. Abbie’s mother was a nurse, her father worked in a factory. Do you think it is just because criminals sell drugs people get  
‘hooked’? Some, like Robbie may begin with prescription pain medications. I pray to God that everyone starts carrying Nalaxone to reverse overdoses.” Taylor stared up at Wayne, his eyes narrowed.  
Bruce Wayne looked at the Reverend. He did knew the scope of what the Reverend was telling him.  
“I’m sorry to get on the 'pulpit', Bruce.” 

Wayne did not hear him. He was thinking back to the night of the attempted jewelry store heist. Even though the drive to the clinic was a short one, it took forever. The Batman could barely raise his right arm and was unable to clench the steering wheel of the Batmobile. His breathing was ragged with the sour iron taste of blood. He was barely able to call his friend Dr. Leslie Thompkins, who ran a medical clinic in the middle of “Crime Alley”. The clinic was on the first floor of her home and she told him would be waiting for him when he arrived. After he parked the Batmobile in an abandoned lot the Caped Crusader staggered to the clinic’s front door. It immediately opened and Dr. Thompkins helped him to the examining room.  
“Bruce, you are a mess” she told her patient after helping him out of the bat suit and onto the examining table. Even as she set up her portable x-ray machine Dr. Thompkins knew he was in serious trouble and after examining him told him so in dispassionate medical manner.  
“Bruce, you have a broken rib, a cracked rib, fractured radius of your right arm, and fractured scapula” Wayne did not answer, he hurt too much to speak. But, he knew she knew he was lucky. How lucky only time would say. He also knew Dr. Thompkins, like Alfred would help him as they did ever since he was a child.  
“I can patch you up. But, you’ll need to take some time off to heal and that is a doctor’s order.”  
Bruce stayed stoically quiet as she worked on his injuries. By the time she was finished, the night sky in the east was bleeding purple.  
“You know, there is nothing I can do to immobilize your ribs other than tape you up.” she said as she slipped a sling over his shoulder to immobilize his arm. You need to keep still while you heal. That should a couple weeks at least.”  
“I can’t wait a couple weeks Leslie. I need to finish what I started. I have a lead on the mob and they will just disappear now their crew is caught.” Bruce tried to stand as he protested. But the floor buckled underneath his feet and he need Dr. Thompkins to steady him.  
“You are in no shape to do anything for a while. You are in way too much pain breathing, let alone swinging off buildings”  
“Is there anything you can do for this pain?”  
“I have a opioid pain medication and I can give you a few day’s supply. They are safe when used as prescribed. But, they are powerful and they have potential for addiction.” She went to a locked metal cabinet which contained a small safe. After she manipulated the knob and took out a thin yellow vial she transferred several pills to a second vial which she handed to the injured crime fighter.  
“I’ll write you a script so you will have enough to last two weeks. Take them only when you have to and if you are still feeling severe pain at the end of the two weeks see a specialist.” She wrote the script and gave it to Wayne and then jotted down in a medication ledger how many the pain pills she prescribed to “Mr. Bruce Wayne” who she noted stopped at the clinic after a “Polo accident.” 

“Actually Rev, a few years ago, I had an accident playing polo when I fractured a couple ribs and a few other bones.” Wayne remarked in a nonplussed mater of fact manner.  
“I hope you gave that sport up. Riding horses swinging a mallet sounds idiotic to. Walking is much safer. Look at addiction this way, you chose to play polo. Think of a woman who was pushed down the stairs of her house by an abusive husband. She ends up with a fractured spine and chronic pain. Or the young boy hurt in a severe car accident. These opioid medications do their job to help people get over terrible pain. But, there are a few, a percentage of people for whom taking an opioid is like lighting a fuse to a firecracker. Substance Use Disorders may not be instantaneous, it may take time. But…” 

Reverend Taylor continued on. But Bruce was thinking about the past again. The Batman was back in action less than a week after the jewelry store incident. Wore a splint for his arm under his suit and slipped flexible carbon fiber stays over his ribs. His whole body hurt like he fallen down flights of stairs. The pain was relentless day after day. But, the pills helped keep the worse dogs at bay. He quickly emptied the vial Dr. Thompkins gave him and the script’s supply ended way too quickly. Bruce Wayne went to a pain specialist who examined him and read Dr. Thompkins’ faxed note describing how Wayne’s injuries were due to a horse riding accident and not a fight with bat welding criminals. The specialist gave Bruce another ‘PRN’ prescription of the same powerful pain medications.  
As the Batman, he could not be out of action and he soon went through the prescription. He decided to seek another doctor. He also wanted something stronger to do something about the constant companionship of pain. The new doctor was someone he knew about through his work as the Batman. Someone who had a unsavory reputation but who had a fancy office was located in a modern downtown glass tower. The Doctor successful looking and middle aged wore an oxford shirt under his white jacket and chino pants. He glanced at Dr. Thompkins’ note and quickly wrote a prescription for a 30-day supply of a higher dosage medication without conducting his own examination. As he handed Wayne the script he told his patient in a cavalier manner, “Just come back if you keep having problems.” 

Bruce Wayne and the Reverend Taylor stopped in the shade of a vivid red sugar maple to sip their coffees.  
“Bruce, I hope you have a better understanding what people go through from what I’ve mentioned today. Without people like you, the word won’t get out.” Wayne politely smiled as he held the warm cup in his hands and watched walkers and other participants get ready for the event. Suddenly he recognized one of the volunteers, a young man who walked among the crowd with a shopping cart passing out ribbons and T-shirts. Taylor noticed Wayne’s interest and walked over to the young man.  
“Carlos, do you have a minute”  
“Sure Rev”  
“Carlos is one of my stalwarts, an excellent organizer. Carlos can share with Mr. Wayne some of your story?”  
“Course Rev” the young man replied.  
“I am an addict in recovery and have been for a year and a month. I’m on parole and have been staying in a half-way house in “Crime Alley” and I would not be here, I might have been dead, if it wasn’t for the Batman.”  
“The Batman why?”  
“I was selling packets of snorters. That’s crushed pills people snort up their noses. I got started when I was fourteen and was soon crushing pills and snorting them mself. When I was sixteen my mom threw me out of the house. I dropped out of school and sofa crashed. To make money, I’d deal packets. Then I ran into the Batman. I tried to run. But, the Bat was quick. He threw that Batterang thing at me and knocked me to the ground. He tied me to a pole for the police and took my packets. It was my first arrest and after spending stretch in Gotham Jail, I got on Parole and went to the House on Park Row. I’m going to find my own place soon, once I get a real job.”  
Bruce recalled that night too. It was a jittery and anxious night. Something he could solve by taking some medication. But, he didn’t have anything on him. Then from a rooftop perch he saw the answer, a lone dealer. After a few moments the Cape Crusader returned to the moonlit roof to snort the contents of a tiny plastic bag as blue white police lights flashed below.  
“Excuse me Mr. Wayne, I have to get back to work, gotta pass out some more sashes and ‘T’ shirts. It was nice to meet you.”  
“Bruce, you’ll have to excuse me too. I have to start getting this show ready to roll. You are welcome to walk with us if you want or you can go up on the hill by the museum and give us your applause when we walk by.” With that the Reverend left Wayne to walk to amble to the band shell’s stage. 

Once the Batman hit upon waylaying drug dealers, he found it easy to keep himself feeling right. The mob and gangs soon realized the Batman’s strategy for fighting crime had changed. The police noticed it too. Detective Bullock who always felt uneasy with the Caped Vigilante argued with Commissioner Gordon about whether the sudden focus on dealers was not the bottom up approach the Commissioner thought it was.  
Even though Bullock was right in one way, she would never have suspected the Batman the reason for the change. But, Alfred knew something was wrong even though Bruce Wayne believed he was hiding everything from his faithful butler. After all, the Batman was out every night from when the sun dipped below the horizon until began to rise again in the East. Everyone at Wayne Enterprises assumed Bruce Wayne nodded off because of his late night carousing and that his runny nose was a sinus condition.  
“Dammit Alfred, I’m not your 8 year old ward anymore.” Wayne told his butler after Alfred reminded him of an appointment. Wayne had been trying to get some work done in his study, shivering at his desk with gnawing stomach cramps. It had been way too long since his last snort from his last packet and he decided to do something about it. Later as he changed into his bat suit, he threw up.  
“Something for that nosy butler to take care of” the Batman snarled.  
Driving the Batmobile through the night he decided to shake down a few more dealers. He found a rooftop roost and parked the Batmobile. Rather than using his ascender, he pulled down a fire escape ladder with a metallic screech that echoed in the night.  
As he knelt at the edge of the roof with the night's breeze ominously flapping about his cape the Batman felt growing stomach cramps that matched his agitation. He decided he would rather throw himself into the Gotham River than go through “withdrawal”.  
Then he saw the night’s mark, several streets away. It was a street gang of three young hoods arguing about something unimportant. His approach wasn’t silent. But, they weren’t paying attention until it was too late.  
“The Bat, one yelled as a silhouette came up from behind them.” Even though the cape crusader moved like a punch drunk boxer, they were no match and within moments all three were on the ground stunned. The Batman jacked one, against an alley wall by his neck furiously demanding “it”. In response the smallest member of the trio produced a couple dozen tiny plastic bags. The snatched the glycerine and told them told them to run. Then with a dumpster for cover he cracked one of the packets open, poured its contents on his gloved palm and snorted. He expected the sensual warm feeling to come and it was soon surrounding him. He fell against the cool metal, the noose tightened and his breath ran shallow like an outgoing tide. 

Officer O’Hara saw the parked Batmobile and decided to see if the Batman need help from the police. What she next saw was a shock as she recognized the crumpled form leaning against a dingy overflowing dumpster. O'Hara feared the worse and called into her mike the code for “Officer down”. She warily knelt next to the Batman and turned her flashlight on the face with its bluish lips. The police officer forced open one of the Batman's eyes and immediately noticed pinpoint pupils. “Could it be an overdose?” she asked herself  
Thankfully, like other Gotham Police, O’Hara carried a couple Naloxone kits to reverse an Opiate overdose. She knew from experience that even if it wasn’t an overdose the Naloxone wouldn’t harm the Caped Crusader. But, it would save his life if it was. O’Hara pulled the nasal injector from a belt mounted satchel, removed it from its package, placed the tip of the nozzle up into the crime fighter’s nostril and pressed the plunger to release the dose. The response was instantaneous. The Batman groaned and immediately got up, his eyes blazed in anger.  
“What did you do?” the Masked Avenger demanded  
“You looked like you were having an overdose and I used a Naloxone kit. You are alright for now. But, you should get to a hospital. The Naloxone may wear off before the drugs do.”  
“Overdose, what do you mean?” demanded the Batman. “Wait, I remember, I was jumped and overpowered. They must have forced something into me.” There was an inconvenient pause.  
“Thank you Officer, you did your duty. Now I must do mine. I will be alright. But, if you have another one of those kits, I’ll take it with me”

When he returned to the Bat Cave the World’s Greatest Detective realized the heroin he in the packet was purer than what he snorted before or perhaps it was cut with another synthetic drug. He would have to be more care. But, he still felt sick and he decided to go back out. He could easily break into that Doctor’s midtown office and maybe just once inject.  
Sometime later, a mid-day sun shining through the windows of Bruce Wayne’s study caught the billionaire in high back armchair by the fireplace of his study. Suddenly he was disturbed by a knock on the door. The knock was followed by Alfred announcing that Dr. Thompkins wanted to see him. Then without waiting for the Wayne’s response, Alfred, Dr. Thompkins and Lucius Fox another friend who knew Bruce’s secret identity walked in and surrounded him.  
“Master Bruce, Dr. Thompkins, Mr. Fox and I cannot watch you destroy yourself. We know you have been using opioids and there is only one way this will end if you don’t stop.” He held an empty packet by two fingers in front of Wayne.  
“How dare you, go into my private affairs. You have no right.” Wayne shouted. He jumped up, his 6 foot 6 stature towering over them. His 210 pounds of highly trained muscle ready to lash out.  
Alfred did not back down. He tossed the packet to floor at Wayne’s feet and calmly replied  
“You left this on the floor in your bedroom, sir”  
Wayne shook his head and walked over to the tower clock on the far wall, activated its mechanism and after pulling the hidden door open pushed himself through to the entrance to the Bat Cave. He went to his desk and opened a secret drawer. He took out the works he had been using.  
“Dammit, I’d rather be dead.” 

Wayne tossed his empty paper cup into a trash barrel as Reverend Taylor began to speak to the crowd.  
“It is true what they say people don’t recover until they reach bottom. The problem is each of our bottoms is different and for more and more of us that bottom is a coffin. So let’s begin our walk with a moment of silence and prayer as we celebrate recovery and remember people who lost their struggle.”  
Bruce Wayne walked up to the once dealer, the young man in recovery and asked  
“Carlos, may I have a ribbon? I would like to join the walk”  
Carlos helped him put on the sash and as he did, Wayne thought how the Batman can’t be in recovery. But Bruce Wayne has to be. 

-30-


End file.
